Rather than see all the wonderful things that happened that day, I (shamefully) thought about how stressful it was.

But really, did it need to be?

What do one year olds care if there was a bit of rain or that there was too much balsamic vinegar in one of the salads?

Alas, it took me 3 years to recover. Of course, I was also trying to jump over other hurdles during that time. Namely, the idiosyncrasies of being a harsh self-critic; a perfectionist.

People can shake their head in disregard and say, “Come on, Grace. Get it together. It’s just a friggin’ kids birthday party…”

But I highly doubt I’d be the first mother who hasn’t – secretly or publicly – put that pressure on themselves to make sure EVERYTHING is just RIGHT; EVERYONE is having a GRAND time.

Luckily I snapped into my senses for the twinions’ fourth. This time, because I was aware of those tension levels rising, I knew how to control it.

Well, for the most part.

I totally lost my shizz when chocolate started leaking to the bottom from the cake tins, within minutes of being shoved in the oven.

“FAAAAAARK!!!”

“It’s okay, babe. It’s okaaaaaaaay. It’s all part of the journey” Mr Surfer said in a New Age, hippy la-la calming voice.

You know where you can stick your “journey”.

By tomorrow, all of this will be a laugh and a great story for dinner parties, I tried to assure myself.

Hindsight, hindsight…wherefore art thou, beloved hindsight?

With restored determination, I returned to the kitchen.

After slaving away over the oven like we were starting up our own Baker’s Delight, I successfully baked FOUR round Betty Crocker Devils Food Cakes.

Anyway, both dinosaur cakes turned out awesome. You’d hope so after baking, frosting and decorating them till 3am (Thank you Mr Surfer and your creative skills).

Of course, the day turned out brilliantly.

A friend generously offered his balloon shaping skills. Kids whacking an empty Piñata to no avail provided great entertainment for us adults. (No one told me those things weren’t pre-filled!)

Proving once again twins are their own little beings, encountering experiences with their own individual reactions, when it came to standing in front of all their friends and their parents to have everyone sing Happy Birthday, K-Bear was proud as punch, soaking up the attention.

My Nunu, however, my beautiful, precious boy was a little overwhelmed. Digging his little head deeper and deeper into my chest as the singing and cheering continued, I was reminded of his unique trait to internalise.

It’s okay, I kept reassuring him. Seconds later, he was just as ecstatic as his brother as they both cut their own green dinosaur cake.

These are the intricate, delicate moments that become fundamental references in life. I think they call it perspective.

P.S For the first time since hosting, Valentine’s Day will fall on FYBF!!! Link up a love story! Whether it’s your own, a celebrity crush, any kind of crush…just as long as it’s not the Candy kind but a post you’ve written on your blog, I wanna hear it! You’ve got TWO weeks! GO!

2. Sign up to the awesome Digital Parents community ( if you haven’t already done so). DP was created by Brenda Gaddi who happens to be the creator of FYBF. She’s also created 4 gorgeous kidlets. In case you’d like to know. Or maybe not. But we’ll share that info just the same.

3. Add your post URL to the linky. Please only link up one post.

4. Grab the funky FYBF button and post it on your sidebar. Help spread the blogfloggin love.

Today is your fourth birthday but it’s no more special than any other, for me to tell you how much my life has been fulfilled since your arrivals.

Not for a day, for a second, from the moment you were inside of me, growing and kicking, getting to know each other, did I take either of you for granted.

For so long, I never knew if it was even possible to have one of you. And after all the effort and the prayers, even when the signs all showed there was the possibility of being doubly blessed, your father and I always remained prudent.

With each cautionary step, after every appointment, after each ultra sound we were told you were both breathing, alive, thriving, against the odds.

Each defining moment when we would get the all clear, we would retreat to the hospital’s prayer room. It was our own little refuge.

In that quiet, dark room, away from the dangers and sickness of this harsh world, we would quietly offer our thanks and gratitude. Tears of relief always fell. And with one hand on my tummy – where you were both busy keeping each other company – your father and I held each other a little tighter.

Now here we are. Celebrating another year of glorious life; of being together.

Effortlessly, I can already see you are each other’s constant. In two, there is one. There is unity. There is the safety and comfort that whatever you face, the other is firmly by your side.

Yet, beyond your identical appearances, there lies the importance that you are your own unique and special personality. Whatever others may say or perceive, they will only know truly know and understand each of you for your special traits and not simply for distinguishing birthmarks.

It’s not even up to us, your parents, to predict what your talents or interests will be. For now, they change every day. So, we want each of you to make a deal with time; let it settle what your choices, decisions and adventures will be.

While it seems ironic that I write a birthday message to my twins, that encourages individuality and independence, I know one day you’ll also read this with your own different interpretations.

Just as you’ll find your own definition of success, I know that you will be the first to give your twin brother’s back a hearty congratulatory slap.

When each of you will face trials and failures, in your chosen paths and journeys, may you always meet at crossroads to help and support each other.

As much as my heart aches a little more each year; holding on to this unrealistic, selfish tingle of a wish for time to freeze; I’m excited for the great potential of two very special lives.

For if not for time and serendipity, the two of you – at the same time – would never exist.

Slowly the little lump of boy stirs from the covers but as his eyes eventually open, he affectionately nudges closer in. He reaches over to my shoulder beckoning me to lean in and hug him.

Obliged, I gaze into his tiny face.

In front of me is the magical transformation from new born baby innocence to feisty pre-schooler; all in a blink of an eye.

The days go slow but the years speed past.

And as his long lashes flutter and tickle my cheek, the saying couldn’t hold any more truth.

Early mornings used to carry so much anxiety and stress from the night before. Little sleep caused by the constant worry of work and the heavy burden of trying to be the best in whatever corporate game I was playing at the time.

Terrified that motherhood was possibly not part of the game plan, I wrote in my journal countless pleas to the Greater Universe to grant me one of life’s greatest wishes; I prayed earnestly to the God I believed in for my one final request.

Then the gift of parenting was finally bestowed but the tempestuous journey of trial and error began. Learning to heed to natural instincts while keeping the harsh external judgments at bay. There are days that barely touch the surface of survival but holds the desperate hope that your children don’t detect your weaknesses or your flaws.

After many mornings of being asked, I slowly realized that it wasn’t about emotional scarring or prolonged hurt feelings.

There was actually nothing to feel guilty about.

That’s the stuff us adults – within our tarnished, cynical personal lives – automatically assume because no one ever is genuinely concerned about the state of our disposition anymore. Unless it’s for their own benefit, right?

But his little boy of mine was asking because of his own innocent intentions.

In the midst of chaotic parental duties, ensuring that the children are fed and clothed; keeping up with the milestones and thriving as I unnecessarily compare them to others; there was something far more important my son wanted me to know.

It goes without saying that despite being identical, the twinlets have their own very different personalities.

For some reason though, this fact seems to mind boggle people sometimes. And I guess that’s understandable.

Even from a mother’s perspective, the twinlets aren’t dissimilar in many aspects, they’re also not at all similar in others. Does that make sense? Or have I completely thrown you off?

What I’m trying to say is that at this age, their differences in personalities don’t really present themselves until it comes to a particular situation.

Despite being the eldest (by a whole 2 minutes), Nunu tends to let his brother dominate a conversation.

K-Bear is Mr Chatterbox and when a question is asked to both of them, K-Bear will be the first to jump in with the answer.

It’s not that Nunu’s an introvert or shy. In fact, as Mr Sociable, he loves approaching other kids at the playground to introduce himself then ask them for their name. Sometimes, he’ll do it several times – to the same kid. The poor child being targeted will look at Nunu in bemusement (occasionally in annoyance ) as if to say, “Wait. Didn’t we just go through this???”

Ah, my son. He’s just practicing his social skills.

Problem is, there is a tendency of being overshadowed by his brother. And this has started to be a growing concern for us.

On the rare occasion when time and exceptional organization skills work harmoniously together in our household, we separate the boys for one on one time.

Sometimes we’ll take one to the shopping mall and the other to the airport. One of us might travel in the car while the other takes public transport. Whatever we do, it’s usually impromptu.

On Sunday, we both decided to catch a bus, albeit separate ones. The destinations hadn’t been decided.

We also hadn’t told the twinlets of our plans but minutes before we left the house, Nunu reached over to his brother and gave him a random hug. Kinda like a “Dude, this might be a bit tough for you, but you’ll be fine. Trust me, I’m your older bro” embrace.

I don’t particularly look out for these “twintuition” moments but when they do happen, I sit up to see and soak in how magical it is.

I took K-Bear and wasn’t quite sure where we would go.

Mr Surfer decided that he would just let Nunu lead him.

“I’m just going to let him tell me what he wants to do…”

After boarding the bus and realizing that his mother and brother weren’t coming along, Nunu asked his dad where we were.

“They’re catching a different bus,” was the reply.

“Oh, okay…” and nothing more mentioned.

K-Bear on the other hand, despite usually being the more confident one, held my hand very tightly when our bus arrived. It then occurred to me that maybe, he relies on his brother to be that pillar of confidence for him.

He constantly asked for his brother and his father for the first five minutes then as he kept holding my hand, he slowly slouched into his seat and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Nunu was having a ball. Time on his own with his dad all to himself and potato chips to boot! For this twin, what wasn’t there to love? More importantly, what or who was there to miss?

As it worked out, we both ended up doing the same thing, catching the bus then the train to Circular Quay. Both had an ice cream and a wander, checking out the ships and ferries.

A quick mobile phone conversation, we decided to meet up but not tell the boys.

The look on the boys’ faces when they first spotted each other could’ve melted my heart like fire to candle wax.

As the twinlets grow into active, independent little boys, I see the need to separate them on a regular basis. It doesn’t need to be for long, massive periods of time.

Just enough to give them the space they need to help discover themselves and become even more confident in who they are.

Because with twins, it’s a given finding strength in numbers. But it takes a conscious effort to build the power of being one.

If you aren’t familiar with Daisy and her gorgeous son, Oscar’s story regarding congenital heart disease, you need to know that Precious Hearts have been an absolute god-send to Daisy and her family.

On the night, Daisy was asked to speak about Oscar’s journey and she’s kindly given me permission to post the speech.

***************

Hi.

I’m Daisy.

I’m a blogger, a business owner, twin mum, mum of three, wife, cleaner, maid, personal chef and sometimes I even get to be me.

And I’m a heart mum.

It’s been three weeks since our last episode, and just over three years since our first diagnosis.

My husband Pal and I live in Young NSW – with our three children. Rory – a feisty, fiery, redheaded, stubborn 4 year old girl. I have no idea where she gets it from. Fraser and Oscar are three year old identical twin boys.

All you really need to know about them is that they are three year old twin boys. Enough said.

In June of 2010, an 11 days old Oscar was diagnosed with a coarcation of the aorta and transferred via helicopter from The Canberra Hospital to Westmead Children’s hospital.

He underwent a coarcation repair and was further diagnosed with a biscuspid aortic valve.

6 days later, he was transferred back to The Canberra Hospital via plane.

Funnily enough, at three years old, his list of favourite things consists of three items:

Ted.

Aeroplanes

And helicopters.

He should add “driving Mum crazy” to that list, but I’m pretty sure he thinks that activity is actually his goal in life, rather than a simple joy.

Three years ago, we weren’t sure he would survive – and if he survived, would he ever thrive.

Now we’re wondering why we were ever concerned. A more alive, healthy, thriving child you will not find.

He lives life like every moment matters. And I guess for him, it does.

Oscar is the kid you find standing on the mantel piece, next to the TV, with a trail of destruction below him and a look on his face that suggest he’s well within his rights to be standing over a metre above the world, perfectly poised to push the TV onto his minions standing below.

I often call him my Extremist.

Nothing by done by halves in Oscar’s world.

This is true for Oscar medically as well.

When he’s well, he’s very, very well. when he’s ill, he commits fully.

It was two years ago, after Oscar’s second procedure – a balloon angioplasty – that we found a calico bag hanging on the end of the cot.

I asked the nurse: “Um, excuse me, what’s this?”

“Oh, that’s just a little care package some of the mums put together for the heart ward.”

Precious Hearts is SO much more than that to our family.

I’m sure to many families.

I am in awe of the work Precious Hearts does. AMAZED by Traci’s commitment, and often comforted simply to know they are there.

On days when I am struggling to get dressed and make my own coffee, I’m pretty sure Traci has already changed somebody’s life. Probably twice over.

“I wonder how good a WWF wrtestler I would be – if matched with an 8kg one year old in a caged event” but also takes the call to action seriously.

And figures out a way to provide a family with a pram that they would never have been able to afford – thanks to regular medical appointments for their child that require up to four hours travel each way.

Precious the Pram gave me freedom I hadn’t known since the twins had come home. It’s not easy getting around with three children born within 17 months, and by providing our family with something that might seem so simple – a pram – our lives were changed.

Not in the least for having our eyes opened to the love and generosity that people we had never met, but those paths had crossed ours at just the right moment.

What I never realized about congenital heart disease could fill a book.

What I know now, I’m sure, is not even the tip of the iceberg.

But here our family is, in this world of CHD – trying to make sense of who, what, when, where and how.

And standing firm and easy to find in this world of blood pressures and oxygen stats is Precious Hearts.

A rainbow beacon, a shelter from the storm, an organization run by amazing people, doing amazing things for amazing children – and families – every day.

Just as I was getting settled into the evening, ready to enjoy some peace and quiet, Mr Surfer called me over in the kitchen. It was time; that unavoidable, most dreaded task of clearing out the shed. And as with any of these overwhelmingly massive chores, tackling the overcrowded space corner by corner is the only practical approach.

We’ve been talking about throwing out which of the twinlet’s baby clothes for a while now. And as they get older, the pile of what’s been outgrown just gets higher.

Begrudgingly, I walked into the kitchen to sort out the garbage bags. I promised myself I’d be stern; Throw out most of what is no longer used and only hang on to a few pieces as memorabilia.

But whom am I kidding?

I am the world’s worse hoarder. Why? Because I am the world’s soppiest sentimental wuss.

Scents; songs; a certain time of the day; all have their way in setting off the nostalgic button in my consciousness and I’m left floating on a myriad of memories. Short, yet significant snapshots of yesteryears.

Sorting through the bibs, newborn onesies, tiny booties, I grabbed items like I was shopping through a bargain bin.

I seem to impress Mr Surfer how I was able to pick up a piece of clothing and immediately recall which relative and friend gave it to us.

Some stuff I held tight and close to my face, trying to get a whiff of any new baby smell remnants.

I made sure we kept everything the boys wore during their time in NICU; the handme down onesies that were still too big despite being size 00000; the ugly singlets stamped with “NSW Health” in prison red, the blankets that kept them warm and close together in the nursery while we weren’t there with them.

Wondering how we got from size “Prem” to now, it was inevitable I got teary.

It’s a safe bet to say that those who say that raising twins is just the same as raising 2 children “close” in age don’t have twins of their own.

Take for example, toilet training.

Having the twinlets as very different individuals and personalities, the “High Five”, squeeze-a-brown-shark-out-get-a-toy technics have only worked for one.

The other insists that doing his business is no one’s business.

And that’s fine. We’re happy to go along with Nunu and when he’s good and ready to make the transition from Lightening McQueen Pull ups to Thomas the Tank undies, we’ll readily be there.

I took the boys to their favourite park the other week.

All was going smoothly when K-Bear insisted he needed to go to the toilet. Having just been to do a discreet wee outside the park fence 5 minutes earlier, I knew he was talking about dropping the brown bomb.

Logistics can be a real bitch at times like these. Trying to drag the other twin to come along was not only tough, but time crucial.

Crossing his legs, K-Bear desperately cried, “Mama…poo, poo!”

Finally, I was able to convince Nunu to get down from the equipment to follow his brother, albeit begrudgingly. I don’t blame him. Would you give up the slide to watch your brother take a crap?

I took the boys back to the quiet corner just outside the park. Legs spread wide in a perfect yoga triangle pose, K-Bear started to do his business.

Realizing that I somehow needed to clear up the mess, I pulled out the baby wipes and made a little nest where the poo could land.

Despite the few flies we attracted, all was going as well as could be expected.

Then, I noticed that up the road – 10 cars away from mine – a parking ranger was doing the rounds. I suddenly panicked realizing that I hadn’t put in any money in the meter. If I didn’t take drastic action, I was going to be slapped with an $88 parking ticket.

“Finished, sweetie???” I failed at trying to sound calm.

“No, Mama…”

More flies started gathering.

“Shoo fly!” K-Bear said, slightly distracted.

“Sweetie, are you finished, NOW???”

My boys are only 3 but they’re not stupid. They knew their mum was frantic.

While his brother plopped away, Noah was still playing near by but was starting to get agitated and impatient.

With my eyes darting back and forth, surveying my son’s poo situation and seeing that the dreaded parking man was only 10 metres away from my car, I knew I was done for.

“Okay, Mama. Finished!”

Quickly I scrambled up the bark and the soiled wipes, trying to wrap it into a neat parcel. Then, wiping my boy’s bum in Olympic record time, I swung our massive back pack around my shoulders, bolted to the bin to then head for the parking meter.

Not even thinking about my boys, they started running behind me.

I looked like Dora the Explorer with her own little troop of Boots and Diego, running behind her.

Vamanos!!!

“Mama, wait for me! Wait for me!” the boys cried out.

For any innocent by passer, I surely would’ve looked like a fugitive, crazy mum, escaping double trouble.

Still ignoring the twinlets’ cries to slow down, I made it to the parking meter just as the nasty parking ranger booked the car in front of me.

About Me…

Indonesian-born, Grace spent extensive time living and working overseas, primarily in Japan. She now resides in Sydney where she is mum to identical twin boys and wife to an avid surfer. While she has happily replaced office life with motherhood, Grace has discovered that a 10 year career in corporate sales and being fluent in 3 languages is futile when dealing with toddler tantrums and singing “The Wheels On The Bus”